


certain as the sun

by ohmyloki



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dancing, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-18 14:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19336207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyloki/pseuds/ohmyloki
Summary: Steve doesn't know how to dance. Tony says hedoesn'tdance. Natasha wonders what's the point of living in a mansion if no one is ever going to use the ballroom?





	certain as the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShippersList](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippersList/gifts).



> This is a world in which the Avengers take up living in the mansion instead of the tower after the attack on New York City. Think of it as a throwback to the golden era of 2012 MCU fanfic.
> 
> (Many thanks to spanglesandsass & mizzy for listening to me work my way through this fic and especially mizzy for her beta services <3)

“So,” Natasha says, taking the empty chair beside Steve. She watches the woman in a slinky red dress walk away before she props her elbow on the table and looks at Steve pointedly, chin in hand.

Steve sighs. He knew it was inevitable, someone noticing. It’s often the downside that comes with having so many spies and otherwise hyper-intelligent people as friends.

“That’s the third one you’ve turned down,” she says.

“You’ve been counting?” he asks, unsurprised but also thankful she missed the first two.

“They’ve all seemed perfectly nice.”

Steve nods in agreement. “They were.”

Natasha lets the silence settle between them like a warm, threatening blanket. The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up.

“Just ask the question, Nat,” he says, finally.

“Do I need to ask the question, Steve?”

There’s a small smile on her lips. He frowns at it, then sighs. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“So?” she asks.

“ _So?_ ”

Natasha shrugs. “Let one of them teach you,” she says, waving her free hand towards the room at large.

“I’d rather not step on any strangers’ toes,” he says. “Can you imagine the newspaper headlines the next day?”

He’s only barely just gotten over his unplanned appearance on the front page of multiple tabloids for feeding ducks in Central Park. How was he supposed to know about the perils of feeding bread to waterfowl? It was perfectly fine back in his day.

“They won’t even notice,” Natasha says, “they’d just be thrilled that Captain America said yes.”

“That doesn’t help, Nat.”

Natasha hums, her eyes suddenly catching on something over Steve’s shoulder.

“You know Tony,” she says.

“What?” Steve asks, confused. “Of course I know Tony.”

“And by that, I mean that Tony is _not_ a stranger.”

Before Steve can do anything more than stare at her dumbly, a reply comes from behind him.

“Maybe not a stranger, but certainly strange,” Tony says. “But _why_ are we talking about my strangeness?”

“Steve here was saying he didn’t want to step on any strange toes.”

“His feet _are_ rather large,” Tony says thoughtfully, sitting lightly on the edge of the table, inches from Steve’s fork. Tony looks him up and down. “But he also seems to be sitting down... so I fail to see the problem here.”

“He’s turned down at least five people asking him to dance,” Natasha says, returning her gaze to Steve, eyebrows raised.

Of course she noticed all of them. Steve would think he would be used to having his every move observed by now.

“Well,” Tony says, “Captain America certainly is the belle of the ball tonight, huh?”

“It’s not like—” Steve starts.

“He would be, if he knew how to dance,” Natasha interrupts.

“ _Natasha_ ,” Steve says.

“I suppose that would be a problem,” Tony says, ignoring Steve and taking a glass off the tray of a passing server. He holds the glass to his lips, idly looking into the crowd as he takes a sip.

Natasha smirks and a pit opens in the bottom of Steve’s stomach.

“If Steve doesn’t know how to dance but is too afraid of stepping on strangers toes to learn…” she trails off pointedly.

Tony remains silent. Steve remains confused.

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Then _clearly_ he needs someone who’s _not_ a stranger to teach him,” she adds.

 _Oh_ , Steve thinks. Why is it he can spot a trap a mile away on the battlefield but never the one two feet to his left when it really counts?

“Why don’t you teach him, Tony?” she asks innocently.

“Why don’t _you_ teach him, Natasha?” Tony shoots back.

Natasha grins slowly. “I don’t think he can handle the way I dance.”

“Now isn’t that one for the imagination.” Tony smirks and takes another sip. “But sorry, Cap. I’m afraid I don’t dance.”

He sets his glass down on the table and nods a goodbye to the both of them before slipping back into the crowd.

Natasha watches Tony thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to Steve.

“It was worth a shot,” she says, a deceptively delicate-looking shoulder lifting in a small shrug.

“What?” Steve asks, incredulous.

Natasha stands up and pats him on the shoulder before following Tony’s lead and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Steve alone at the table yet again. He pulls Tony’s glass into his hands to give him something to look busy with. Unfortunately, it’s not long before he spots a man eyeing him across the dance floor with a look Steve is all too familiar with.

Steve sighs and downs the rest of Tony’s drink and tries to think of a decent excuse to use for rejection number six.

* * *

Barely a month later, Steve has mostly forgotten about the weird interaction between the three of them.

An unfortunate reminder comes by way of Clint’s favorite gossip channel.

Steve has mostly tuned out the ambient noise of the kitchen (read: Clint speed-eating his customary breakfast—an overfilled bowl of sickeningly sweet cereal) while he eats his eggs and reads the news feed that JARVIS has kindly curated for him on his tablet, so he doesn’t notice it right away.

But then he hears Tony’s name and he looks up at the screen, only to be greeted by a picture of Tony and Pepper slow dancing. He vaguely remembers Tony leaving the mansion in a tux the night before and has another vague awareness that it was for some gala or another. It must have been something for Stark Industries, if Pepper was there as well.

Steve’s initial reaction to the photo is mostly, ‘Oh, that’s a nice picture of the two of them.’ This thought, however, is immediately followed by a slightly painful and weird twist in his chest.

A string of garbled gibberish falls from Clint’s mouth, along with a small marshmallow. Steve looks over at him to see Clint staring back, inquisitive.

Natasha glances up from her book, looks at Steve and then looks at the television.

“Ah,” she says, like everything makes sense.

It’s more than a little frustrating because, honestly, very little has made sense to Steve for about two years now. Much less seeing a picture of Tony dancing after he explicitly stated he does no such thing.

Steve’s brows furrow and Natasha gives him a sympathetic look. A sense of impending doom settles in the kitchen, like Steve is about to be involved in an awkward conversation. His fight or flight instinct is about to kick in and since there are no aliens or robots in the vicinity in need of a swift punch, he thinks flight would be the smart move to make.

Unfortunately, before Steve can remove himself from the situation, they’re all distracted by a noise in the doorway.

The noise is Tony’s arrival—a vague moan of greeting followed by a few mumblings about caffeine.

The silence that follows as they all watch Tony walk to the coffee pot and pour himself a mug is, if possible, more awkward than the conversation that his presence distracted them from. He must be able to sense it in the air because as soon as his mug is full, he turns around and clutches it to his chest protectively, like it’ll save him from what’s about to happen.

“What?” he asks, suspiciously.

“I thought you said you don’t dance,” Natasha says simply, looking back to the television.

On screen, they’re still gossiping about the state of Tony’s love life, which means the picture of him and Pepper has only been relegated to the background behind the hosts instead of taking up the entire screen.

Tony purses his lips.

Whatever reason Tony has for not wanting to dance with Steve—since it seems apparent his issue is with Steve and not with dancing in general—is something Steve would rather not hear in front of an audience.

“Tony, it’s fine. Seriously don’t worry—” he starts.

“Ballroom,” Tony says. “Eight o’clock tonight, twinkletoes.” Steve’s about to protest but Tony keeps talking. “The Lannister twins here are not invited. I’ll have JARVIS electrify the doorknobs if I need to.”

And then he’s out of the room, just like that.

Steve turns back to the table and sees Natasha smiling to herself. Clint has become re-absorbed into the television.

“What?” Steve asks, a little defensively.

“I didn’t expect him to bend so quickly,” she says. She pushes away from the table and walks out of the kitchen with her book.

Steve is honestly more than a little tired of people ending conversations with him by just walking away and one of these days he’s going to prove that he’s not above sitting on someone to stop them from leaving prematurely.

* * *

 

By eight o’clock that night, Steve is… well, he’s nervous, truth be told. He knows it’s not a big deal. It’s just dancing. It’s dancing with _Tony_ of all people.

While they may not have gotten off on the best foot originally, he likes to think they’ve become friends. In fact, he kind of wishes he could spend _more_ time with Tony than he currently does. So, all in all, this is kind of a win on multiple fronts for Steve.

It doesn’t explain the butterflies in his stomach, though.

He paces outside the ballroom door for a minute, trying to commune with said butterflies, before he’s startled out of his line of thought when the door creaks open and Tony pokes his head out.

“JARVIS said you were out here lurking,” he says.

“JARVIS?” Steve asks, confused and a little betrayed.

“Sorry, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS says, clearly not actually sorry at all.

Tony opens the door further and ushers Steve inside.

“Shoes off,” Tony says as Steve walks by.

“Uh—” Steve says looking down at the sensible sneakers he’s wearing.

“If you’re going to step on any toes, I’d prefer bare feet. I can deal with bruises but I’d rather not deal with any broken bones.”

Tony himself is already barefoot. He’s also far more dressed down than Steve has ever seen. The tank top is a staple, Steve has seen it more than he can count when he visits Tony in the shop, but the jogging pants are new. They look soft. Steve’s tempted to reach out and feel if they’re as soft as they look.

“So,” Tony says, looking Steve up and down.

Steve resists the urge to bounce on his toes like a little kid under Tony’s scrutiny.

“You don’t know how to dance?” Tony asks.

“No,” Steve says.

“And by not knowing how to dance, you mean you’ve never done a dance with actual steps or…”

“I’ve never danced. Period.”

“Not even awkward high school swaying at prom?” Tony asks.

Steve levels him a look.

“What? No prom for teenage Steve Rogers? That’s a shame, I've seen the photos… you were adorable,” Tony says.

 _What_? Steve thinks, but Tony continues on.

“Hmmm,” he says. “Well, the bright side is at least you won't have to unlearn any bad habits.”

Steve shrugs. “I guess.”

“I’m going to lead first,” Tony says. “Just to get a sense of how you move. So just follow me and don’t worry too much about the steps. Though I would appreciate it if you avoided my feet.”

Tony steps up into Steve’s space and Steve freezes for a moment before Tony takes his hands and arranges them into position.

It’s weird. For all that Steve and Tony have been up close and personal in the gym, sparring and practicing as a team and even one-on-one, this feels different.

This feels intimate.

Steve’s face gets a little warm.

“Music, J,” Tony says, unaware of Steve’s weird little train of thought.

Soft, slow music fills the room. Steve doesn’t recognize the song but when Tony starts to move, it would be almost impossible for him not to follow.

He’s actually not terrible, to his own surprise. He manages to avoid stepping on Tony’s feet and the only time he even comes close to stumbling is when he gets distracted. Maybe it’s because he’s so used to being eye-to-eye with Tony when he’s in the Iron Man suit. Or maybe it’s because he’s never been around Tony barefoot before. But when Steve notices it, it’s suddenly all he can think of. Tony is kind of short. Sure, it’s only a handful of inches and Tony isn’t really a small man all things considered, but he’s smaller than Steve.

It’s very distracting.

“Not bad,” Tony says when the song ends and they’ve both come away unscathed.

“Thanks,” Steve says smiling.

“I’m a little rusty myself, but I can teach you enough to impress the next person who asks. You’ll be buying a yellow gown in no time.”

“Are you insinuating you’re the Beast in this scenario?” Steve asks innocently.

Tony’s eyebrows furrow and Steve laughs.

“Clearly I didn’t think this through,” Tony says with a little smile.

“No, no, no. I think you’re absolutely right. You definitely fit that role better than me,” Steve says, dragging a knuckle along Tony’s sideburn. Goosebumps travel up his own arm at the feel of Tony’s hair against his skin.

“Hey, I did not invite you here, into my home, just to be insulted,” Tony says, faux-offended. He reaches up to swat Steve’s hand away but ends up holding onto it instead. Tony’s skin is warm against his.

Steve laughs but then looks at Tony seriously. “Thank you, Tony. I really appreciate it,” he says honestly.

Tony just drops Steve’s hand and waves him off.

“Why don’t we start with a waltz,” he says. “That should be pretty simple and then we can figure out where to go from there.”

“How do you even know all of this?” Steve asks.

“Spoiled little rich kid with important parents,” Tony says. There’s something in his tone, though. Steve doesn’t think it’s the whole truth.

It must show on his face because Tony looks at him then looks away quickly.

“My mom taught me. She loved to dance. It was pretty much the only time I got her to myself. You wouldn’t find my dad near a dance floor of his own volition,” Tony admits.

Steve is about to say something sympathetic that would probably sour the whole mood but he’s saved by Tony telling JARVIS to play the next song.

“Alright, first things first… put your foot right here,” Tony says, nudging Steve’s foot into place.

* * *

It’s almost anti-climactic, after how much Steve had built the concept up in his head. Like learning how to dance was some sort of Everest he would never be able to climb. But, surprising no one but himself, Steve picks it up fast.

Their standing date is for Wednesday night but the reality of their lives often intervenes, the combination of Stark Industries and Avengers business has a tendency to bump it to another day more often than not. No matter what day they meet, though, it easily becomes the highlight of Steve’s week.

If asked, and he _has_ been asked an appalling number of times, who his favorite Avenger is, Steve often says he could never pick, it would be like picking a favorite child. It’s mostly true. He appreciates each and every one of them and what they bring to the table.

But if he was pressed. If he was really pressed… his answer would be Tony.

He tries not to think too hard about what that means.

* * *

In between calls to assemble and board meetings, they manage to work their way through the catalog of dances Tony knows offhand. When Tony mentions it, Steve is afraid their lessons will end there (he might even think for a split second that maybe he can pretend to be worse than he is—just to squeeze a few more lessons out of Tony) but Tony just shrugs it off and says it can’t hurt for him to learn new things as well.

Tony starts talking about ballet and football players and his movement in the Iron Man suit, but Steve is too pleased to really question it.

* * *

It’s late one Monday evening when they’re working on something particularly complicated. JARVIS has been projecting footprints on the floor for them to follow along with, but Tony keeps getting stuck on a step which ends in him tripping himself and landing flat on his back at least twice. Steve laughs so hard the second time he has to sit on the floor himself because he’s afraid he might pass out from lack of air.

“Alright, Fred Astaire,” Tony says, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s clearly trying to pretend he’s upset at Steve laughing at him but he can’t stop the grin spreading across his own face. “Get off your ass and see if you can do it, then.”

Steve does as requested and Tony pouts when he flows right through the step almost effortlessly.

“I’m starting to think you might not need me anymore,” Tony says.

“Aw, Tony,” Steve replies and reaches out to pull Tony close to him. Steve instinctively puts his hands on Tony’s waist and eventually Tony’s hands settle on his shoulders. The music shifts into something slow and they sway back and forth like a couple of awkward teenagers at prom. “I’m always going to need you,” Steve says.

Tony hums in response as they continue to sway. Steve resists the temptation to pull Tony close and rest his cheek against Tony’s beard, the way he sees in the movies.

Steve’s happiness in this moment is incandescent. He could live in this singular moment in time and never want for anything more. And in this moment he would pledge his life to Natasha for pushing the both of them into it.

It does make Steve think, however.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says conversationally.

“Hmm?”

“Why did you tell me that you don’t dance?”

“What?” Tony asks, turning his head to look at Steve.

“When Natasha said you should teach me how to dance the first time… you said you don’t dance. But then we all saw you in that picture with Pepper and, well, obviously you know _how_ to dance. So I was wondering…”

Tony freezes on the spot, forcing Steve to stop with him. He looks Steve in the eye, all traces of mirth from earlier gone.

“You want the truth, Steve?”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t know what the answer could possibly be that would turn Tony this serious.

“Do you know me at all, Tony?”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Tony laughs then sighs. “The truth is, it’s obviously not that I don’t dance. It’s just… I didn’t want to dance with you.”

“Why did you agree to this, then? I would’ve been fine—you didn’t have to—” Steve instinctually moves to take a step back, hurt and flinching away from the answer. Tony’s hands tighten on him, the intent more than strength keeping Steve in place.

“I didn’t want to dance with you, Steve, because I was afraid.”

Steve is still confused, “Afraid? I don’t understand.”

“I was afraid if we started doing this, I’d never want to stop. That if I was allowed to touch you… I’d never want to take my hands off of you.”

The air goes still around them. Steve can’t tell if the silence is from JARVIS taking a cue and turning the music off or if it’s just the muffled silence of his sudden rush of adrenaline.

Tony looks up at him with wide brown eyes, searching.

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong, Steve. Tell me what you want.”

Tony leans in ever so slightly, his lips inches away from Steve’s.

“What I want?” Steve asks. A grin breaks across his face. “What I want is for you to never take your hands off me.”

He leans in the rest of the way and presses his lips to Tony’s. It’s soft and chaste and they break apart after just a moment.

Tony’s face lights up, his eyes crinkling as he looks at Steve. “That was a little After School Special. Don’t tell me you need kissing lessons too,” he says with a smirk.

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “Lessons? Nah,” he says. “But a little practice never hurts.”

They lean back into each other and this time Steve nips at Tony’s bottom lip, relishes the feel of Tony’s tongue soft and velvet against his own, delights in the scratch of Tony’s beard against his clean-shaven skin.

Tony’s doesn’t take his hands off of Steve, but he certainly moves them. Quick enough, they’ve found their way to the hem of Steve’s shirt and slipped up underneath to press his fingers into the bare skin of Steve’s back.

Steve cups Tony’s face with his hand, his thumb resting on Tony’s cheekbone as he deepens the kiss. He tries pulling Tony as close as possible while also pressing forward until Tony laughs into the kiss.

“Did you just dip me?” he asks against Steve’s lips.

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums, trying to capture Tony’s mouth again but it’s no use. Tony’s happiness is a living, breathing thing between them and before long Steve laughs too and they’re both smiling too hard to do anything more then rest their foreheads together after Steve straightens them up.

“I was thinking,” Tony said.

“Should I be afraid?” Steve asks.

Tony ignores the comment. “Maybe we can try swing dancing next. You know, get a little hot and sweaty.”

Steve hums. Swing dancing does sound like fun, but he also thinks that can wait until next week.

“Sure. But if it’s hot and sweaty you want, I have a different idea,” he says.

Tony’s grin spreads across his face.

“Teach me,” he says.

* * *

Natasha watches Steve fidget in his seat when Tony walks into the kitchen. There’s something different. There’s… something in the air. Something that wasn’t there before.

Steve is clearly trying to keep his attention focused on his breakfast but his eyes keep darting towards the back of Tony’s head as he pours himself a mug of coffee. Tony turns around and leans back against the counter, catching Steve’s glance and smiling at him. Steve says good morning bright—too brightly, even for him.

Tony looks at Natasha and lifts his mug in acknowledgment, a smirk on his lips.

 _Ah_ , Natasha thinks. _Finally_.

“Say, Steve,” Tony says, stopping in the doorway. “I’ve got something you need to take a look at downstairs. You free?”

“What?” Steve asks. “Oh—yeah. Yes, I’m free.”

Steve’s chair screeches against the tile as he tosses his napkin down on a plate still full of food and follows Tony out the door.

“Tale as old as time,” she says.

“What?” Clint says, around a mouthful of Fruity Pebbles.

Natasha rolls her eyes.


End file.
